


Crumbling to Dust

by cuddlesome



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: Sword & Shield | Pokemon Sword & Shield Versions
Genre: Eating Disorders, Eventual Relationships, Explicit Language, F/M, Flirting, Foreplay, Heavy Drinking, Non-Explicit Sex, Rare Pairings, References to Depression, Suicidal Thoughts, gotta ship those sword-exclusive characters babie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:20:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27221860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuddlesome/pseuds/cuddlesome
Summary: Bea goes with Gordie to a pub after being defeated in the finals and watches his cool, calm, and collected façade fall apart in front of her.
Relationships: Makuwa | Gordie/Saitou | Bea
Comments: 14
Kudos: 18





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like my characterization of Bea is kind of non-traditional. Based on her league cards and dialogue she reads to me as someone who would be good at fighting and bad at pretty much everything else, especially social situations. Hopefully I made it believable.
> 
> ...also, shout out to all two people who are going to read this fic with a pair so rare it's basically nonexistent.

Bea pauses during her hasty exit from Wyndon Stadium when she hears someone call out to her.

"The challenger got you?"

She turns her head to see Gordie, her opponent in the first round, striding up to her.

"Yes," she admits.

Not that it's some mystery. Anyone watching the telly would've seen it. Victory had been so tantalizingly close before it was ripped away from her. She’s still covered in sweat from the stress of going through multiple rounds before her eventual defeat. It takes a good amount of stress to push her to anger, wanting to destroy everything, and the aftermath leaves her drained.

Gordie hums in sympathy.

Now that he's closer, Bea sizes him up. It’s different off of the pitch, out in the “real world.” She keeps her face carefully neutral.

He’s a big, heavyset man but he holds himself with poise she can only imagine he got from Melony. He reminds her of a sensei she’d had once; he wore trendy clothing outside of training, too. Her sensei wasn't nearly as impassioned, though. Or as handsome. She swallows.

Even when she faced Gordie in the stadium, heat stirred in her belly. He acted so animated; a real crowd-pleaser to her own stoicism. It almost felt bad to defeat him.

He brushes his hair out of his face, only to have it immediately fall back. "Fancy getting a drink?”

Bea straightens up. "With you?"

"No, with my coalossal. Of course with me." He grins.

She bites her lip. She wants to, very much, and that scares her. She should go home to train with her pokémon until the sun rises the next morning, a way to both get stronger and punish herself for her defeat in one fell swoop.

In desperation for some excuse, she asks, "You are not upset at me for defeating you?"

"Oh, I'm very upset, but I've turned my heart to stone to cope." He thumps the left side of his chest with his palm, grin turning sardonic. "I'll train harder and overcome the disadvantage I'm at when I battle you, simple as that. Until then, I should learn to appreciate a woman who can kick my arse."

Maybe it's the confidence, maybe it's his flirtatious tone. Whatever it is, it makes Bea have to resist breaking her careful mask of forbearance to smile back at him.

“So?" He asks. "I know celebrating in the loser’s circle isn’t ideal, but any excuse to get sloshed, right?”

It's already well into the evening. She should get home.

Still, Bea curls her hands into resolute fists and nods.

They go to one of the smaller pubs in Wyndon and still find it overrun with fans. Luckily, they're paying more attention to the championship match being televised on every screen than the gym leaders in their midst. The telly is neigh inscrutable from the booth where they're sitting, but she's fine with that. She'd rather not see.

"Want to get some food, too?" He asks. "I'm always starving after these sorts of matches."

"No, thank you. I have my own." She extracts a squished protein bar from her pocket.

Gordie raises an eyebrow but shrugs and orders some pie and mash for himself.

Bea gets the sugariest cocktail on the menu, something with rose in the name because the chairman's reach extends even here. The high alcohol content intimidates her, but the promise of sweetness in the sugar rim outweighs that fear. She'll just pace herself, breaking up drinking the fluorescent red drink while eating her protein bar.

Gordie doesn't seem to have any such reservations. He orders a pint and chugs it. She stares, alarmed, but he doesn't seem any worse off when he puts the mug down and calls for another. He takes the next one slower but still takes much larger gulps than she ever would. Once his food arrives, he makes short work of it.

"You sure you don't want some?" Gordie asks once he's over halfway through, stopping only to take another swig of beer. "This gravy is really good."

Bea declines, then unwraps and nibbles at her protein bar. She can't help but wonder what her parents would think of her keeping company with someone so voracious, so given to following his desires. Even as an adult, their opinions haunt her. They would probably say he's a bad influence on her; flamboyant and gluttonous and too ardent. And maybe they'd be right, but she doesn't care.

She jumps in her seat as cheers rise up from the other patrons watching the match, raising her fists without thinking and further squishing her protein bar in one.

"You don't get out much, do you?" Gordie asks, not unkindly.

Twin spots of heat burn in her cheeks as she lowers her hands. "No. I don't do... anything, much, outside of training."

The only exception to that is the occasional indulgence, going to the shops and picking out a sweet for herself once a month. Even that little pleasure has soured somewhat with the overwhelming amount of fan mail that included sweets once her supporters found out she liked them.

“Well, I’ll be sure to show you a good time."

He winks at her. Bea sips her drink in a vain attempt to disguise how much the gesture flusters her.

The conversation that they have from there is blessedly mundane. She can’t recall ever speaking with so much ease to another gym leader. They discuss how they’re raising their pokémon, the recent vandalizing of the mural in Stow-on-Side, and how the uniforms for gym challengers this year are a bit dated. A shadow passes over Gordie’s face when she asks about his mother, but he answers the question politely before moving on. She gets the sense it must be a sore topic, but she doesn’t know enough about him or Melony to know why.

She ends up giving the rest of her drink to him after a while, partly because she doesn't want to finish it herself, partly because she wants to watch him quaff the more potent drink the same way he'd done with the beer. He doesn't disappoint.

He’s still hungry, so he orders a plate of chips with his next pint. She feels like she's living vicariously through him. She would never dare to eat or drink so much, but she enjoys watching Gordie indulge himself.

He belches into the side of his fist after his—seventh? Eighth? She’s lost count—drink. “Pardon me. I should cut myself off before I actually start to get too drunk.”

He’s starting to slur his words a little and his northeastern Galarian accent thickens, all low and deep. Bea doesn’t know enough about alcohol to estimate how much it would take for such a big man to start feeling the effects of it, but it has to be a lot based on how much he put away to get to this point.

"Mmm, yeah, I’ll get some water. I need to still be able to walk to the hotel after this." 

"Machamp can carry you if you want to keep going," Bea volunteers.

"That’d be a sight. Listen, I know what I said about getting sloshed, but you do not want to see me when I’m really drunk. I get all weepy."

“About what?”

He rubs his chest with one hand, presumably trying to chase away a spot of heartburn. “Being a loser and a disappointment. Wanting to fall down a hole and die. You know.”

Bea's insides lurch. She reaches across the table and grabs his other hand. His ring cuts into her palm, but she doesn't notice.

“Do not say things like that,” she says.

He looks away and adjusts his sunglasses. He hasn't taken them off despite the time of day and the fact that they're inside. She gets the sense he hides behind them.

“Sorry. I don't know if you noticed, but I can be a little dramatic.” He laughs half-heartedly. "Don't worry about me."

That's not really possible now. The whole night has a bit of a damper put on it. Still, they play at everything being normal for another hour before leaving.

Gordie stumbles on his way out of the pub and Bea reaches out to steady him.

She braces an arm behind his broad back and uses the other to steady him from the front, careful not to press on his full stomach. He hiccups and she feels his whole belly flinch with it.

“You don’t need to walk me back, I’m fine.” As if to demonstrate how wrong he is, he trips over his own feet and it’s only her strength that keeps him from falling flat on his face.

“You were saying?”

He huffs and looks away.

“Would you have drunk and eaten more if I wasn’t here? Made yourself... sick?”

“Sicker” is probably the more accurate term, but Gordie is still in denial about how out of it he is.

“Would’ve drunk and eaten enough to satisfy everyone staffing my gym, yeah."

They arrive at the hotel. The people working the front desk smile politely, but Bea can see them staring. They must make for an odd pair.

She fishes his keycard out of one of his jacket pockets and finds the number on it. He sways on his feet in the elevator but manages not to vomit.

Once they reach the room, she guides him to the bed. He flops down on his front, fully dressed. Within seconds he’s snoring.

Bea considers what to do. She should probably leave, but she can't shake the feeling he might hurt himself if she leaves him alone. She considers the couch but opts for the floor instead after deeming the cushions far too squishy. She doesn't know what the next day will bring but hopes that a hungover Gordie is less depressed than a drunk Gordie.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This got away from me a little and ended up longer than I intended. WHOOPS. Oh well, more food for the gorbea shippers.
> 
> I feel like I have to add an explicit language tag every time I write from Gord's perspective. I hc him as really profane for some reason. #letGymLeaderGordiesayfuck2020

To say that Gordie is mortified to find Bea is in his hotel room the next morning would be an understatement. She lays peacefully on her back on the floor like... a plank of wood. That can't be comfortable.

Just how much of a drunken arse had he been to make her sleep there while he took the bed? He stands in the doorway connecting the bedroom to the sitting room, one hand on the frame and the other on his head. Pain lances through his skull. Is this what psychic attacks feel like? He massages his temple and takes stock of just how messy his gelled hair is after going to sleep without washing it. He's still dressed, smelling only of sweat and beer and greasy pub food. No hint of sex. Thank Arceus. It would be a real testament to how much he drank if he shagged her and didn't remember it at all. 

He would've made a fool of himself trying to fuck drunk and with a full stomach, besides, lethargic and bloated and in real danger of getting sick all over her. He might've even cried into her cunt about his stupid problems with the alcohol lowering his inhibitions. And, cliché as it is, his mother hadn't raised him that way. If there was one bit of life advice he could take from her, it would be the rules regarding safe sex. It's not as though he brought a condom with him to the champion cup.

He takes a fresh set of clothes with him into the bathroom, relieves himself, showers, and brushes his teeth until the taste of bile is gone.

He's irritated to find that he forgot to replace the hair gel he used up the last of before the finals. Not that he wants to turn on the hair dryer to even get to that point and wake Bea up.

Looks like Bea is going to get to see Gordie-with-a-wet-bob, Gordie-son-of-Melony. His fans always gush over his hair being pretty when it's down and he's gotten fonder of it over the years as a result, but it still feels leaps and bounds away from the persona he's crafted for himself. She's already seen him at his most vulnerable, but this is just the icing on the alcremie. He consoles himself with the fact she has a similar hairstyle and might not think much of it.

While the headache doesn't leave altogether, he feels much better after freshening up, water, and a handful of berries. If he wasn't in a hotel and didn't have company he would probably mix up some disgusting hangover cure with egg yolk and Worchester sauce.

He calls out her name softly just to see if she’s awake and her grey eyes snap open.

She sits up, shifting into a cross-legged position and looking much more well-rested than he probably does. "Good morning."

"Hey."

She stretches and yawns a little. Cute.

"A refresher to the body and soul. Doesn't sleep make you feel energized?"

"Most of the time." Despite suspecting that they had both gone right to bed the night before, he asks, "Did you—did we—?" 

Bea doesn't fill in the blanks. She stares at him, expectant.

He needs to state it clearly. They're adults. It's fine.

"We didn't sleep together last night, did we?"

"I slept here." She pats the floor. "I often napped on the floor at dojos after long sessions, so I'm used to wood." 

Even clearer, it seems. "So you're saying we didn't have sex?"

"Oh! No. No, we did not." She fiddles with the tied off part of her uniform. "Did you want to? I want to.”

She seems surprised at her own boldness, the tiny frown that almost always graces her face falling into an o.

He grins at her. "I wouldn't be opposed, but I'd prefer if it's not when I'm not plastered or hungover.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” She fiddles with her shirt ties some more, then says, “More importantly, you said some worrying things last night. That's why I stayed."

"Worrying how?" He doesn't remember much after he stuffed his face with a plateful of chips.

"Gordie, you're not... you made it sound like you..."

Oh. That.

"Wanted to off myself?" Gordie reflexively pushes his hair out of his face, then does it again. “I’ve thought about it.”

She springs to her feet and rushes over to him. “What can I do to help?”

“It’s not your problem. I have to fix it on my own.”

“No one should ever have to be alone.”

What is she, a fortune cookie? A shrink? He has to restrain himself from saying it aloud. She's just trying to help, in her way. He doesn't need to verbally spar with her the way he does with his mother.

“I won’t burden my friends with my issues.” At her look, eyebrows upturned and worrying her lower lip, he adds, “What? You want to subject yourself to being more than my friend?”

She nods. Bloody hell. He doesn't know what to do with that.

He touches her shoulder and smiles softly. “To be honest with you, Bea, just knowing someone cares is enough.”

They leave the hotel that morning with promises of keeping in phone contact and tentative plans to meet up sometime.

Once he gets back to Circhester, he sends her a pic of a snom that had crawled up to sit on top of a snowman like a hat. Who doesn't love snoms, after all? Even he has a spot in his heart for the little buggers.

She responds with a picture of some kids playing with a bronzong in Stow-and-Side which is equal parts cute and worrisome.

They chat back and forth about... everything, really. Their gyms, their pokémon, their families, the weather, life, death, the universe. Interesting things, boring things. It's nice. She always responds to his explosive energy with much more measured thoughts except when she's prodded to passion. These exceptions usually involved sweets or sightings of fighting type pokémon in his gym. The challengers and audience are both baffled when he pulls out his phone upon seeing one like he's bloody Raihan.

Talking to her is something to look forward to between matches. It beats drowning in his own feelings in the locker room every time he loses and putting all of his self-worth into the shaky foundations of his wins.

Eventually, Gordie gets some professional help more for her sake than his. She's worried about him after he sends her a string of drunk texts one night. Every challenger that day had a team built around water or grass types and both he and his team suffered as a result. His rotom phone gets an explicit instruction not to let him do that again, but he knows he can't blame it for his own failings. 

Is it pathetic to care more about the feelings of a coworker he barely knows more than himself? Probably, but whatever works, right?

He doesn't like group therapy—his celebrity status makes it impossible for anyone there to treat him like a human being—so he goes in for individual sessions. He's resistant to taking medication. He can't disassociate pills from his mother taking lithium. 

The "medicine" he'd been giving himself had seemed to work up until now, after all. He likes beer, likes the way it warms his insides and makes his thoughts too fuzzy to concentrate on any one thing. He likes it almost as much as he likes the taste and weight of loads of food in his belly.

But he doesn't like either of those things as much as Bea's attention.

Working up to not eating and drinking enough for four people helps. He binges occasionally, but nowhere near as badly as he had before. He feels a little less like he wants to die every time he wakes up in the morning. A relationship can't and won't be the magic bullet to his fucked brain, but it doesn't hurt.

He doesn't see her in person again until the gym leaders all get together for the semi-annual team building meeting in Motostoke. It's all a farce. What's the need to do team building with people who you're in competition with? Still, it's nice to see everyone outside of a battle. According to Opal, Bede abjectly refused to be dragged away from the gym, so she's here in his stead. This time around Rose couldn't even attend the event he organized, so they're left to their own devices. It's unanimously agreed that they'll get dinner together and call their team built.

Gordie keeps looking to Bea, trying not to be too mindless as he sips at a spoonful of the soup he ordered as a starter. It's nice to see her after so long keeping in text contact. She sneaks glances at him too and he wonders how noticeable it is.

It’s Piers, here after being dragged away from Spikemuth for once, for this, the most pointless of gym leader events, who finally comes out and says something: “You two gonna get a room or what? You’ve been shaggin’ with your eyes since we got here.”

Bea starts and hides her face in her hands. Gordie's fair skin colors, from his cheeks to his neck to his ears.

"Piss off," he says.

Piers shrugs languidly. "No need to get angry. It's true, innit?"

He looks to the others, wondering if they thought the same thing. Raihan has been on his phone the whole time and Opal's head is off in fairyland, so they aren't good frames of reference.

Gordie turns to Kabu. "Have we been doing that? Eye shagging?"

Kabu clears his throat. “I wouldn’t call it that. I would say you look at each other with a lot of affection and passion.”

“So, the same thing,” Nessa says.

"Milo?" Gordie asks.

"Well." Milo smiles. "Would it be better or worse if I said you're looking at each other like wooloos in the springtime?"

"So much worse."

Bea grabs Gordie's hand. He all but jumps out of his seat—when had she rounded the table to get to him? There's sudden determination in her eyes.

"We'll take your advice, Piers," she says.

She drags him away and Gordie lets it happen. They end up back at another hotel, one of the fancy ones with silky sheets and breakfast included where they hopefully won't get an STD from just using the bed.

"We don't have to do this if you don't want to," Gordie says.

He’d taken to sticking condoms in his wallet, though, so there’s actually an option this time.

"I do, though. I've wanted to for a while. It just didn't feel right that first night when you were..."

“Dealing with a depressive episode? Yeah." 

Fuck, he's anxious all of a sudden. He should've had a drink when he was back at the restaurant. Something stiffer than beer.

"But we can now," she says.

"Yeah." He clears his throat and smiles at her. "Right, then. Let’s have some fun.”

They both have chapped lips from living in the heat and cold respectively. It somehow doesn’t make the kiss any less pleasant. It’s hard to focus on that when they’re twisting their slick tongues together, leaning into each other as if they can melt together.

Her body is so muscular. Everywhere his hands land on her she’s strong. Years of stringent karate will do that, he supposes. A portion of his own bulk is muscle—one doesn’t just pull a stationary flip out of nowhere—but it’s buried under a fair amount of blubber. 

She rubs her fingers against one of his hips.

He laughs against her mouth. “That tickles.”

She starts to do it more deliberately on both hips. He laughs harder and pulls away. She laughs, too, much more softly than him. When they quiet they're just left looking into each others' eyes.

“I know we haven't had much more than a work relationship until now," Bea says, "but... I like you a lot.”

The admission is so straightforward his heart flips.

He knows he should respond in kind, but he’s just insecure enough he can’t stop himself from asking, “Why’s that?”

“You’re charming and funny and handsome. You follow your passions. I like your smile, the real one, not the one you use for the cameras. You have beautiful eyes.” She hugs him, burying her face against the side of his neck.

He strokes the back of her head. “Well, you’ve got all that right.”

For someone who hates himself, he can play the vain rising star part well enough. Despite his lackadaisical reaction, he’s chuffed. A blush colors his face.

“...thank you,” he adds softly. “Not just for that. I think my head’s been a little less buggered since we properly met.”

She swallows. Maybe he shouldn’t have let things get so heavy.

She pulls away a little. “Tickling is out, but can I pick you up? Gym challengers have a lot of fun when I do that.”

Gordie welcomes the new topic, though he has his doubts about actually letting her do it.

“No offense, but there is a snowball’s chance in hell you could pick me uuuuup—”

As he voices his doubts, she does it, bracing her arms around his middle and lifting him up into the air. He clings to her, startled by the sudden shift in angle and the sensation of his feet dangling.

He can’t remember being held anywhere near like this since he was a kid. No wonder gym challengers like it; it probably reminds the little ones of home. Bea spins in a slow circle, then sets him down.

“Strong,” says Gordie.

Bea giggles softly. “I’ve benched pokémon much heavier than you. I could hike around Stow-and-Side with you in my arms.”

“That’s fit, but wow,” he says. “I am so glad you didn’t attempt something like that when I was drunk. Now how about _I_ pick _you_ up?”

He kneels down and scoops her up, then turns and flops on his back on the bed. Having her muscular bulk, the only bulk on her lean body, bounce against his torso knocks the wind out of him, but it’s his own fault and she looks delighted, so he grins through it.

One might expect that the fighting type gym leader would be a rough lay, but they would be wrong. Bea is equal parts eager and shy in foreplay alone.

He lets her stay on top of him, letting her be in control of the situation. Her kissing his more tentative than before. Her fingers ball up in his shirt. There’s so much tension it’s a wonder she doesn’t rip it.

She bites her lip when he asks her with as little ceremony as he can if she’s a virgin. He wonders how they managed to skip that part in all of their text conversations.

“Right.” He strokes her cheek with his thumb. “Well, if you don’t like anything I’m doing, just say, ‘Gordon, quit it,’ and it’s quit, yeah?”

Nothing’s a bigger turn-off than his full name. It’s the perfect safe word.

“And if I do like it, I say, ‘yes, Gordie, keep going?’”

She asks the question very seriously, brows drawn together. It’s sweet and makes his cock throb.

“Yeah. Just like that.”

If she can still stand to fuck him, or simply like him, after the way he acted, and enjoy it, there may be some hope for them. He can’t remember the last time he had sex without at least a little alcohol in his system to give him confidence, but he finds that it’s much better this way. He can make out every time she calls out his sobriquet with utter clarity.


End file.
